


Rag Water, Bitters and Blue Ruin

by leashy_bebes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leashy_bebes/pseuds/leashy_bebes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Written for the following prompt at kinkme_merlin: Gwaine's drinking starts to spiral out of control taking over his life. Leon grew up with a alcoholic father (or other relative if you prefer) and recognises the signs and intervenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rag Water, Bitters and Blue Ruin

_and the clock ticks out like a dripping faucet  
'til you're full of rag water and bitters and blue ruin  
and you spill out over the side to anyone who will listen_

 

"Come on, you lazy bastard, wake up," Leon shouts, banging on the door. They have a lot to do today, and frankly Gwaine's hangover comes second to the threat of Arthur's bitching if they fail at groomsmen duties.

There's no sign of Gwaine, no shout or tell-tale thump of footsteps and on an impulse Leon tries the door handle. He's not entirely surprised when the door swings open, unlocked.

"Fuck's sake, Gwaine," he mutters, amused in spite of himself for a moment.

But then something changes, something indefinable, and Leon feels – off. It's something to do with the flat, maybe. Gwaine's place always looks Spartan, like even though he's held down this flat for almost as long as Leon's known him, he has to be ready to move on at a moment's notice. That's normal, for Gwaine, and Leon can't quite put his finger on what's different. The place just feels...cold. Unlived in. Gwaine normally manages to stamp his personality all over everything even if all there is that's his is a rug, a beanbag chair and a stack of DVDs.

He finds Gwaine sleeping face down on the sofa, snoring like a champion. He doesn't wake up when Leon walks into the room, or when he approaches the sofa and calls his name.

"Oi," Leon says, crouching down and shaking Gwaine's shoulder. "Alright?"

Gwaine opens a bleary eye and turns his face away, muttering something that sounds like, "Jesus, what the fuck, arse o'clock in the fucking morning, god _damn_ it."

Eventually Gwaine rolls over onto his back, scratching absently at his chest through the shirt he was wearing when they all went out last night. Leon's stomach drops. Gwaine looks gorgeous. He always looks gorgeous, even if this morning he looks like a poster boy for living fast and leaving a pretty corpse. This is all Gwaine's version of normal, really, and Leon can't understand why it makes him feel so anxious.

"You look rough," Leon says, shuffling back to drop into the beanbag chair, looking at Gwaine critically.

The smile Gwaine gives him is nothing like as dazzling as usual. "Why, thank you," he says, and starts rooting through his pockets and under his body for a pack of fags.

"Gwaine. You – " Leon makes himself stop, breathe, and be calm when he says, "Your hands are shaking."

"Waking up terrifies me," Gwaine quips, pushing himself upright and lighting a battered cigarette from a squashed packet.

"Gwaine – "

"Come on, man. It's party week. I bet Arthur and Merlin and looking a hell of a lot worse."

"It was their stag-night," Leon says, but he knows there's no arguing with him now. "Look, if this is about – about Merlin – "

"Oh for crying out loud – I don't love Merlin, could you all just knock it off?"

"What, then?"

"I hate weddings."

Leon wonders, not for the first time, about the ring Gwaine wears on the chain around his neck. He keeps his voice light though as he says, "Even your best mate's?"

"Especially his."

"See, and that's why people think you're in love with him."

Gwaine just grins and waves the pack of cigarettes towards Leon. "Go on," he says when Leon hesitates. "No one here to look disapproving."

They share an ash tray in the silence and when Leon's done he tells Gwaine, "Go on, shift your arse, we're supposed to be at the tailor's for final adjustments to the suits in half an hour."

"Ah, bollocks." Gwaine rubs his hands over his face and crushes out his cigarette. "Make some coffee while I get in the shower?"

"Yeah, alright," Leon says. He has to try really, really hard not to go through the cupboards and the bin, following a ritual he'd seen his mother perform most days, from when Leon was too young to understand, right up until he was old enough to understand all too well, and to seethe with the unfairness of it all.

When Gwaine gets out of the shower the shakes are gone and he looks like his old self again, grinning at Leon and talking rapidly while they drink their coffee. If Leon had arrived now, found Gwaine clean and fresh and filling up the flat with his personality, drinking coffee from a mug the size of a small bucket, he'd never have thought anything was wrong.

But the thought – the panicky fucking thought – too much, too much, he's drinking too much – has taken root and it picks away at Leon through a whole day of Gwaine flirting with the tailor, and flirting with the shop assistant, and winding Arthur up mercilessly.

***

Leon tells himself that it's just the wedding, just the fact that Gwaine's best mate is getting married. That changes things, of course it does. And maybe that's what makes Gwaine seem increasingly like he's clinging onto himself, wearing his personality like armour and laughing, always laughing as he careens through life.

The trouble is, Leon thinks a few days later, at Merlin and Arthur's wedding reception, Gwaine isn't an angry drunk. He's not a sad drunk, or a grabby drunk, or a loud drunk. He's fucking charming, all the time, drunk or sober. He spills out over the edges of himself and makes everyone around him smile and that must be heady, it must, but Leon can feel a heavy throb building in his temples at the lazy grip Gwaine has on a glass of red wine. Leon gets like this, and he knows it probably makes him shit company at times, but he can't help it.

Excess doesn't make him as uncomfortable as it once did, and he's no tee-totaller himself. But Gwaine is something different. Gwaine is bright and funny, he fits into the caricature he has drawn of himself far too well, and sometimes the sight of him with a drink in one hand and the room in the palm of the other makes Leon feel sick. Because he has seen charming drunk before. He knows where it goes, and the echo of _not him, not him, not him_ , pounds in Leon's head.

***

It's not just the wedding.

When Leon was a little boy, he'd thought he had two fathers. One was funny and friendly and silly, and the other was withdrawn and snappy and selfish. When the first daddy, the fun one, gave way for good to the other one, Leon had been too young to see the process, too young to understand.

This is like watching it again with adult eyes, a slow-motion version of the drawn-out fall from grace that had ripped the foundation right out from Leon's family. Gwaine starts hanging about with them less, finding excuses to skip out on the weekly get-togethers which have been a feature ever since the end of uni. It started out as an effort to keep hold of the last of the easy days. Once everyone was working, some of them far away and some close, they'd dwindled to monthly apart from everyone that still lived in the city.

For weeks though, with Arthur and Merlin on their honeymoon and then settling into married life, Elyan working in Sheffield, and Gwaine apparently avoiding everyone, it has just been Leon, Lancelot and Percival. Eventually though, Arthur and Merlin respond to Lancelot's circular text message and join them in an Indian restaurant one Friday, all holding hands and making gooey eyes at each other. Gwaine turns up an hour late, already reeling a little.

He's loud, his humour sharper than usual, something bitter around the edges of his handsome smile. He picks at some plain rice and drinks three big bottles of Cobra beer before he tosses a twenty pound note on the table and makes his goodbyes.

When he's gone there's silence, like no one can quite believe that was their Gwaine, their happy-go-lucky, funny, friendly-to-a-fault Gwaine. Merlin drops his eyes like he's been expecting and dreading this just as much as Leon has. Arthur squeezes his hand, looking pissed off, while Lancelot and Percival look taken-aback.

"That was – " Lancelot starts.

"I don't think he's doing too well," Merlin says, his voice thick.

Leon pushes the remains of his food around his plate and decides no, this is it, he is going to have to say something.

***

As it turns out, it's quite a while before Leon gets the chance to talk to Gwaine. Part of it is just life, just the grind of work and other commitments. Part of it is that Gwaine barely answers his phone these days, and is never home the times Leon drops around unannounced. But Leon has to admit that part of it is down to himself, to the fear that bubbles inside him. He feels like he's paralysed sometimes, knowing he must talk to Gwaine even when it is the very last thing he wants.

In truth, he doesn't want the confirmation that it's as bad as he thinks it is. Leon doesn't want to hear the same platitudes slip as easily from Gwaine's lips as they did from his dad's, doesn't want to force himself into believing the same lies. It was one thing to fall for them at fourteen from his own father, but they're pushing thirty now, and Leon has no familial duty to believe Gwaine's bullshit.

So, for a while at least, he doesn't ask because he's afraid. No excuses, nothing honourable about it, he's just fucking terrified. He justifies it with thin reasoning like Gwaine's hard to pin down these days, like it has to be the right time, the right way.

Things come to a head one Friday afternoon though, when Arthur rings his mobile and asks, with no preamble, "You spoken to Gwaine lately?"

"Not for a while. Problem?"

Arthur sighs and Leon can picture him leaning his chair back on two legs and fiddling with a pen like he used to do in uni when he was freaking out about an exam.

"Merlin's doing his nut," Arthur says. "They had some sort of falling out and – "

"Merlin and Gwaine did?"

"Yeah." Arthur sighs again and Leon can hear him shifting around. Leon's never fully understood how Gwaine feels about anyone, and he doesn't understand how Arthur feels about Gwaine either, but whatever anyone thinks, cross words between Merlin and Gwaine are unheard of. "So you haven't seen him, then?"

"No," Leon says, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Not for a couple of weeks."

"He's not answering Merlin's calls, the fucking prick," Arthur says, sounding irritated now. "But he'll answer when Merlin calls off my phone, as if that's fooling anyone, as if Merlin'd even _want_ to talk to him after that – "

"I'll speak to him," Leon says. "I've been meaning to anyway."

And well, Leon and Arthur grew up together, so Arthur probably knows more than anyone about Leon's dad. There's a silence before Arthur says, "It doesn't have to be you."

"Yeah," Leon says playfully. "You could do it, that'd go down a treat."

Arthur laughs, and claims, "I can do subtle!"

"I've yet to see any evidence of this in over twenty years, Pendragon."

"Oh, bugger off. Slap the stupid git upside the head for me, will you?"

"Consider it done," Leon says.

When he gets off the phone, Leon sits and thinks for a long moment. Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he takes the rest of the afternoon off work and drives to the garage where Gwaine's been working for the last six months. It's close to four when he leans through the door and sees Gwaine sitting on an upturned crate, cleaning his oily hands.

"Oh, hey," he says, offering Leon a smile. "Car trouble?"

"Nah, just passing," Leon says, hating the lie. "Got time for a coffee?"

"Uh...probably. Hey, Steve? Alright if I clock off for the night?"

Steve, apparently the boss, nods and waves Gwaine off.

"Alright, then," Gwaine says, and Leon almost bails out right there. Because Gwaine looks alright today. He's lost some weight yeah, but he's sober and smiling, like he's so pleased to see Leon and well. Leon doesn't think he's met anyone yet who's immune to the charm of being the focus of Gwaine's attention.

Leon drives them just around the corner to a cafe and parks the car in a side street. They smoke a cigarette as they walk to the cafe, Gwaine bitching that he still hasn't got his head around the smoking ban, and it all feels so normal.

"So what's this in aid of?" Gwaine asks, as he adds sugar to his cappuccino and watches it sink through the foam.

"I wanted to talk to you," Leon says. They're in a quiet corner of the cafe but this suddenly feels all wrong. It should be more private really, but he's already spoken and Gwaine's lashes drop in a way that was always a tell of his when they used to play poker together. Leon's pretty sure Gwaine knows where this is going.

Still, he shoots for bold as he asks, "Oh yeah? About what?"

"About how much you drink."

Gwaine toasts with his coffee cup and says, "What? It's good java, man."

"Gwaine. My – my dad was a drinker," he says hesitantly. Gwaine looks instantly uncomfortable, and Leon goes on, "No, look, okay, I'm not lecturing you, I swear I'm not, but – just. Just be careful, alright?"

Gwaine swirls what's left of his coffee around in his cup and glances up at Leon through his lashes. "What happened? With your dad."

"He died when I was sixteen."

"Shit – God, mate, I – "

Leon feels as clumsy as he always does, trying to broach this subject. More even, because it's _Gwaine_ , and it seems almost cruel to make him get that dark shadow in his eyes, the guilty cast to his face. "I'm not – " Leon goes on. "I'm not trying to do a _thing_ , okay? I'm just saying that I know the signs, yeah? And you're not..." He looks at Gwaine, taking in the ragged nails and scuffed knuckles, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his foot jiggles. "You're not yourself."

"I don't think it's as big a deal as you're imagining," Gwaine says, clearly picking his words carefully. "But yeah. I could do with some clean-living for a few weeks, might not be a bad idea."

It's a start.

(Except Leon knows it's probably not, really, because if Gwaine thinks a couple of weeks will help, he's not getting it.)

***

Two Fridays later, Leon is out on a date which is going considerably better than the others he's been set up with intermittently since his last serious relationship ended. They started the evening with dinner that had taken them hours given how much they talked in between courses. Liam is funny and cute, a bit younger than Leon but seriously smart, full of opinions. Leon's having a genuinely good time, and wondering about ways to extend the evening a bit when they leave the restaurant and the world grinds to a halt.

Across the road there's a little bar, grimy-looking and rundown, and Leon doesn't know what draws his eye there because he has been deliberately not thinking about Gwaine for a week, since Gwaine dropped off everyone's radar again, stopped taking their calls, stopped answering the door when people visited his flat. But Leon does look, and he sees Gwaine, his usually flowing hair cut shorter than usual, just ducking inside the bar.

It's a split second decision when Leon turns to Liam and says, "Hey, look, could you just wait here for two minutes? I've just seen a mate of mine and I need a word."

Liam raises his eyebrows, looking a bit surprised and understandably a little put-out. "Sure," he says. "I'll just...wait here."

"Thanks," Leon says as he starts to jog across the road. "Seriously, thanks."

The bar is just as grim and gloomy inside as it looks from the outside and it takes Leon a moment to spot Gwaine at the bar. Leon threads his way through the crowd and finds himself standing behind Gwaine with no idea what to say.

"Hey," he ventures in the end.

"Ah, hey, man," Gwaine says once he's turned around on his bar stool and squinted Leon into focus. "How's it going?"

"Alright," Leon says, looking at the glasses stacked up in front of Gwaine. "What's all this, then?"

"Jesus, don't say it like that," Gwaine says, his expression going sour all of a sudden. "I lost my job, alright? Everyone's allowed to get pissed when they lose their jobs."

Leon bites his lip. "Why did you lose your job?"

Gwaine waves his glass of whisky in a vague circle. "Because of the global economic downturn."

"Right," Leon says tightly, because Gwaine has _no right_ being funny when he's obviously decided to dive feet first into the deep end. "What happened to a few weeks of clean-living?" he asks, trying to make it gentle.

"Well frankly by that stage, I would have said whatever it took to shut you up, you fucking moaning old woman," Gwaine says, a sharp edge to his voice.

Leon thought he'd become inured to the insults of drunks a long time ago, but he still feels a flush colour his face, feels his jaw tighten, and has to look away from Gwaine's eyes. They're bright, alright, but bright with the fire of someone who has surrendered to the impulse to tear it all down. Leon feels a wash of despair because he can be there for Gwaine, yeah, he can do that, but he can't force him to quit, and he certainly can't quit _for_ him.

Gwaine turns back to the bar, every line of his body tense and announcing loud and clear, _leave me the fuck alone_. There's nothing, Leon thinks despairingly, _nothing_ that he can do. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth but he turns away, leaves Gwaine sitting there at the bar, and heads outside.

When he gets back to his date, the poor bloke says, "Fancy a drink?"

"No," Leon says. "Not really."

When Leon wakes up the next morning, his phone is flashing 'one new voicemail' at him and he hits the button to pick it up warily. Sure enough the robotic voice says, "You have one new message. Message received today at four-oh-five A.M." There's a beep and then silence. It drags on for so long that Leon starts to wonder whether maybe it's not Gwaine after all, whether one of his other mates called accidentally, what Merlin insistently refers to as butt-dialling.

Finally though, the silence is broken by a long sigh and Gwaine's voice, gravelly and slurred saying, "Sorry. M'sorry. You're not an old woman. I'm a cunt. But I always have been, Leon, you know that. Sorry."

Leon gives it a couple of days before he calls Gwaine. He knows he's not calm enough to do it straight away. He'll go in swinging, the anger that's still plaguing him spilling out all over, and that'll do neither of them any good. So he waits until he feels at least half calm, and for once Gwaine actually answers.

"Hey," Gwaine says, and he sounds – well, sober for one thing. But he sounds tired and faded and almost unfamiliar. "D'you get my message?"

"Yeah," Leon says.

"I meant it. I am sorry."

"I'm just – I'm just worried about you, mate."

There's a pause. "Don't be. Please."  
 _  
You make that really, really difficult_ , Leon thinks, but doesn't say. Because yeah, okay, he can try again, he can say _get help, get help, please just get help_ until he's blue in the face or until Gwaine cuts him off completely. Or he can resign himself to phone calls like this, to checking in regularly and waiting for the day when Gwaine is ready to change.

***

It's one of those coincidences that Leon would scoff at in a book or movie. But apparently real life is just that ridiculous sometimes. He's just getting back from his once-yearly trip to his dad's grave, marking the anniversary of his passing, when his mobile rings with a call from an unnamed London number.

"Hello, sir," a bored voice says, and Leon is just about to say that no, he really doesn't need any double-glazing, or travel insurance, or whatever it is she's selling when she goes on, "Do you know a Mr. G. Quinn?"

"Gwaine? Yeah, yeah, I know him, is everything – "

"I'm calling from Charing Cross hospital. Mr. Quinn was admitted earlier today. He was unable to give us any contact details, but yours was the most recently called number on his phone."

Leon's already grabbing for his keys. The most recently called number...it's been days and days since he last spoke to Gwaine, more like a week and a half, and the idea that Gwaine hasn't spoken to anyone else in the meantime shakes him. Has he just spent the last nine days climbing inside a bottle, then? It seems possible, and even as the woman on the other end of the phone is assuring him that Gwaine should be fine, no lasting damage – this time – Leon feels sick and shaky, all kinds of memories trying to flood back into his head.

The drive to the hospital passes in a blur, Leon's hands tight on the wheel. He's reminded horribly, irresistibly, of another call from another hospital, when Leon was the only person in the house, home on study leave for his GCSEs. Sitting at traffic lights he feels the ghost of the way his thighs had ached from cycling five miles at breakneck speeds only to get there too late. When he finally pulls into the hospital it takes him what feels like hours to find a parking space. He feels jittery and on-edge, like that day from all those years ago has overlaid itself onto the here and now, making them indistinguishable. He's a grown man and an angry, terrified kid all at once.

It takes him a while to track down the ward he'd been told Gwaine was in, picking his way through colour-coded corridors. Finally, he finds the reception desk, staffed by a harassed looking nurse who waves Leon over to a curtained bed. He stands for a long moment outside the curtains, dreading what he might find on the other side. It's actually not as bad as some of the images his brain had come up with on the way over.

Gwaine's upright and looking around, and Leon would guess the drip in the back of his hand is just for dehydration. Still, he's in a hospital bed looking like he hasn't eaten or slept in a week, and like he's been in a hell of a fight. He looks up guiltily when Leon steps inside the curtain and yanks it shut behind him, something trembling in his throat.

Neither of them speak for a long moment and then Gwaine says, "Look, I'm sorry they called you. I'm – "

"So help me, if you say you are fine," Leon snaps out, and Gwaine shuts his mouth, looking uneasy.

Another silence and then Leon sits in the chair at Gwaine's bedside to look him in the eye. "Okay," he says. "Now I'm lecturing, okay? Now I'm fucking lecturing. You need to stop this shit. Rehab. Subutex. Cold turkey. AA. Whatever the fuck. Just – stop. Please. Please, okay?"

 _Can't you see how much I need you to stop?_

But Leon knows that another person's need could never be enough for someone else to break their reliance on the bottle, so he doesn't say it. He finds Gwaine's hand on the white sheets and squeezes it hard.

"You stupid dick," he whispers. "You stupid, stupid – "

A doctor comes in then, and Leon has to wait outside. When he goes back in Gwaine looks edgy and uncomfortable, and Leon knows the doctor has probably laid out the home truths Leon has only had the guts to hint at.

"It's nothing, seriously," he says. "Just not been eating properly, partying too hard. It's nothing."

Leon doesn't dignify that with a response. "They keeping you in?"

"'til the morning," Gwaine says. "Just to be on the safe-side, apparently."

He sounds pissed off about that and Leon says, "You better not be thinking about leaving."

"I'm not," Gwaine says. "Seriously. Scout's honour, or whatever. I'm staying put."

"Alright." Leon sits down in the chair again and taps his foot. "So, will you listen to the doctors? I mean you're pretty determined not to listen to me, but he's got letters after his name."

"Leon," Gwaine says. "I'm listening."

Leon rubs his hands over his face. He doesn't know what to believe.

"You stopping?" Gwaine asks a bit later when Leon hasn't made any move to leave.

Leon shrugs. "I'll stay until someone kicks me out."

"Yeah, alright," Gwaine says, like all of this is no big deal. Leon wants to shake him.

Instead he picks up the newspaper from the side of the bed and between them they complete the crossword. While Gwaine's defacing the Sudoku because he could never get the hang of it, Leon clears his throat and says, "If and when you're serious about this, I will be there for you. I can't do it for you, and I can't make you do it, but I can be there."

"Understood," Gwaine says, his pen pausing for a moment.

After Gwaine is delivered a frankly unappealing looking dinner and a nutrient-rich drink, a nurse arrives to discuss 'options'. Leon takes that to mean possible drying-out routes, healthy living for real, and he offers to stay.

"Nah, you're alright, mate."

"Sure?"

"It's fine," Gwaine says. "Go and get yourself a coffee, grab me some magazines or something, I'm gonna be bored."

Leon leans over and grabs his jacket from the chair. "Alright. See you in a bit."

When he gets back, the hospital bed is empty. For a second, Leon is so pissed off, pulse throbbing sickly in his temples. And then it passes and it all seems like a mockery, such an unsubtle hint of what's to come. Because one day, the hospital bed will be empty for a lot worse reasons than Gwaine discharging himself and hot-footing it to the nearest bar. Leon feels tired and out of his depth, and even though he curses himself as he does it, he gets in his car and drives home, carefully not looking into any pub windows when he's stopped at the traffic lights.

***

Four days later, Leon's doorbell wakes him at three in the morning. Gwaine is swaying on his feet, and he looks pale and haggard. He's not making much sense, but Leon does hear the words, _I'll go to a meeting, I swear it_.

Maybe he will and maybe he won't. Maybe this is a turning point, and maybe it's nothing more than a manipulative fuck who needs a bed for the night. All Leon can do is take it at face value, though. Gwaine huddles on the sofa, looking wretched. He's unwashed and unshaven, clearly been on a bender since he left the hospital. And been in another fight too, judging by the skinned knuckles and the beginnings of a bruise on his cheekbone.

Leon forces a cup of coffee into his hand. "Drink that," he says.

"Can't," Gwaine says, face pressed to the arm of the sofa.

Leon pulls the cup back and sets it down hard on the coffee table.

"I'm really fucking tired of making excuses for you," Leon says tightly. "Even just to myself. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to sober up – coffee, water, sleep, whatever. First thing in the morning, you get in the shower, I'll take you to a meeting, wait for you, then take you to your doctor."

"Doctor?"

"State of you," Leon says, not unkindly. "You need to get checked over. Never mind that you did a bunk from the hospital."

"Leon. Leon."

"I'm here," Leon tells him.

"I'm sorry," Gwaine says, slurring around the edges of the words and reaching for Leon. "I'm so sorry."

Leon catches his hand and squeezes it. "Drink your coffee."

Gwaine falls asleep at five in the morning after guzzling most of a two litre bottle of water. Leon gets on his laptop and finds a meeting at just before 10 in the morning in Ealing. He taps his foot and keeps himself awake, trying to work out how much sleep he can allow Gwaine and still drop him at the meeting clean and sober.

"I'm not going to fucking lose you," he says aloud to the flat. Gwaine only snores.

***

The next few days go remarkably according to what Leon said. The worst moment comes when they're leaving the doctor's and Gwaine looks hollow-eyed and scared. For a crazy moment, Leon thinks he might just run, just leave Leon standing on the steps of the GP's surgery and run like hell. He doesn't though, but he doesn't speak until they're back at Leon's flat either.

"I have to – " he says, not meeting Leon's eyes. "I have to have all kinds of tests. Liver function, STDs, the works."

"I guess you haven't been making the best decisions," Leon says carefully.

"Understatement," Gwaine says with a humourless laugh, dropping into the armchair. "At least the doc says I can detox at home, don't need to go as an inpatient."

"You're staying here," Leon tells him, in no mood to be argued with. He drops to the sofa opposite Gwaine and looks at him.

Gwaine knots his hands together and says, "Look, mate, this isn't going to be pretty – "

"Do you think I don't know that?" Leon asks. "Really?"

The words come out harsher than he meant them to and buzz around in the air between them.

"Look," he says, trying to keep his voice level. "You went to a meeting today. You going again tomorrow?"

"I – yeah," Gwaine says.

"Right. Okay. So it's about honesty, then." Leon says. He presses his lips together and notes that Gwaine looks anxious but oddly resigned. He doesn't know exactly what Leon's going to say, but he knows it won't make pleasant listening. "So let's be honest. This week – the next few weeks, if you're serious – are going to be shit. If you get the shakes, if you get a headache that's splitting your skull wide open and making you cry like a baby, you're not going to a meeting, are you?"

A muscle twitches in Gwaine's jaw and he looks past Leon. "I'm trying, here."

"I get that," Leon says. "And you must think I'm a dick for saying this now, or a coward for not saying it before, but you are on the fucking _edge_ here, Gwaine. Merlin's in such a state that Arthur's going completely spare, nobody knows what to say to you. We're all walking on eggshells because we're terrified of losing you. And I'm – I meant what I said in the hospital, alright?" He leans forward and taps Gwaine's foot with his own until Gwaine reluctantly raises his eyes to meet Leon's gaze. "I meant every word. I am here, and I'm not going anywhere as long as you want to do this. But you've been testing me and you know you have."

Gwaine swallows and breaks their eye contact to examine his fingernails instead. "Not a lot I can say there," he says eventually, his voice thick.

"But I believe you," Leon tells him. "I believe you, and I believe _in_ you. Like I said, the early parts are going to be horrible. So you stay here. I'll take some time off work – " Leon waves off Gwaine's protest. "I've time owing anyway, shut up, Gwaine. I'll drive you to all the meetings you need, we'll go jogging, cook stupid food, it'll be like uni all over again. We can – shit, we can redecorate the flat if you want. Or you can just sit on my sofa and growl at the world. Just don't – don't set yourself up to fail," he begs. "That's all I'm saying."

Gwaine grins, the tension disappearing in an instant. " _Jogging_ , Durant? You drive a car around the city of London _every day_ , you don't even jog for the bus."

"Yeah, and you look like you'd blow over in a stiff breeze," Leon teases right back. "We'll be pretty evenly matched."

"Yeah, right."

"So, what do you say? Stay here, let me help you through the worst of it."

"I – yeah. Yeah, thanks, mate."

"One rule," Leon says. "Wait, two rules."

"Alright."

"Don't drink. Don't puke on my stuff."

Gwaine smiles again, smaller this time, and warmer too. "Deal." And he holds out his hand for Leon to shake.

***

After a week of meetings, Gwaine is quiet and thoughtful.

"You wanna go out for dinner?" Leon offers when he picks Gwaine up on Wednesday afternoon from a meeting in Wimbledon.

"Yeah," Gwaine says. "Yeah, that'd be good."

They end up at an Italian restaurant and Leon leans back in his chair, watching as Gwaine orders a sparkling water to go with his meal. It's only been a week, of course, but Leon can't help thinking that Gwaine looks a hell of a lot better already. He's still too thin, worn and tired looking but he seems quietly determined.

They've done everything that Leon suggested bar decorating the flat, and while work weren't thrilled with him taking time off so suddenly, they aren't out for his blood yet. If he's forced to, Leon will claim a family emergency, because the time spent keeping Gwaine occupied is probably good for both of them. Leon's relentless list of tiny everyday tasks (they shop every day instead of once a week like Leon usually does, clean religiously, haul every item of clothing and bedding Leon owns down to the laundrette and spent a fortune washing and tumbling it all) keeps Gwaine from even thinking about a drink, or so he says.

"So how are you doing?" Leon asks. "What do you make of the meetings?"

"I..." Gwaine shrugs. "I don't know. The higher power stuff is...not for me, possibly, but..." He shrugs again. "I haven't had a drink this week. Can't knock it, I suppose."

"I think – " Leon takes a drink of his mineral water. "I think you're supposed to find your own understanding of that."

"Yeah," Gwaine nods. "Yeah, I know. Just feels a bit like being back in church sometimes. But – well, I'm doing it. I need to do it. I don't even know the last time I went a week without a drink."

"You're doing good already, then," Leon tells him. "Baby steps, yeah?"

Gwaine nods seriously.

***

There are a few false starts, yes, days when Gwaine goes straight from meetings to a bar, and doesn't show his face for weeks afterwards. Leon wants to shake him, wants nothing more to do with him, wants an end to the frantic late night phone calls from Merlin or Arthur or even Lance on occasion.

But before Leon knows it, Gwaine's halfway into his third attempt at thirty meetings in thirty days, and this time he makes it through a month with apparent ease, scaling meetings back to a few times a week, right the way up to six weeks before something sends him jumping feet-first off the wagon. It's stop-start like that for a long time, until Leon realises with a quiet thrill that it's been nearly six months this time.

Whether Gwaine goes to a meeting in the early morning, or the middle of the night, Leon is there to pick him up, take him for coffee. His colleagues quickly get used to Leon taking his lunch hour first thing in the morning, or last thing at night.

Being there for Gwaine through the whole process, through victories and setbacks alike, is not easy. But Leon had always known this wasn't something he could take on lightly. He decided long ago that if he was in this, then he was in it for the long-haul. It wouldn't be fair otherwise, to offer help only to withdraw it when things got tough. Which is not to say they haven't had stand-up rows before now, Leon saying he can see the next departure from sobriety – goddamnit I can _see_ it, Gwaine! – brewing behind his eyes, while Gwaine says he's too much, too stifling, driving him fucking crazy.

Gwaine hadn't mentioned it to any of them, but he'd lost his last flat when his landlady finally ran out of patience waiting for the rent payments after he got fired. He hates the place he's living now and spends as little time there as possible. Leon can't blame him, in all honesty. It's in the shittier end of Canning Town, little more than a studio apartment above a taxi shop that's busy at all hours. Once he's been dry for a while, and has started looking for work, Gwaine talks frequently about moving out. He's even less keen than usual to put down roots here, and so Leon's surprised when they walk into the dingy little room one afternoon and he sees a plant in a garishly red pot.

He's never known Gwaine to have plants. Well, there were a couple of weed plants in one of his student houses that no one ever quite claimed responsibility for, but this is something else altogether. The plant has waxy, dark green leaves and large white flowers.

"What's all this?" Leon asks, touching the leaves gently.

Gwaine laughs. "I was talking to Merlin. It's a – a thing. An AA thing. One of the guys told me – you get a plant and then, if you go long enough without fucking up and letting it die, you get a pet. And then one day maybe you can start thinking you deserve to be around people. And you know what Merlin's like. He'd dragged me off to B&Q before I could even think. Fucking hippie."

Leon laughs. "Sounds like Merlin. How long have you had it?"

"Three weeks," Gwaine says. "And it already looks better than it did in the shop."

There's a definite note of pride in Gwaine's voice as he looks at the incongruously pretty plant in the gloomy little flat and Leon can't help smiling at him.

***

Gwaine's waiting out the front of his building – he still hates the flat even though his plant is flourishing – when Leon arrives to pick him up. Leon can tell the place wears on him and it bothers him sometimes, in the way a dozen little things do about the whole situation. There's nothing he can do about any of them though, and anyway, tonight Gwaine looks fantastic. Dark jeans and a dark green shirt both flatter him, as does the broad smile on his face.

When Leon pulls into the cinema car park twenty minutes later, Gwaine says, "Hey, wait a minute, yeah? I have some news."

"Oh yeah?"

Gwaine grins. "I got a job."

"Gwaine, that's brilliant!" Leon shifts awkwardly in the small space to clap Gwaine on the shoulder. "Doing what?"

"Working in a garage again. Only part time at the moment but the owner, Jay, his son was in AA so he's big on sympathy and time off for meetings, but not so much on second chances. He likes to give people a shot though, so..."

"That's great news, mate," Leon says. "I'm really pleased for you."

When they get out of the car Gwaine surprises Leon with a fierce, tight hug and promises, "My first paycheque, I'm taking you out to dinner."

They find the others buying up a storm of popcorn and ice-cream and nachos and cokes as big as their heads. Gwaine laughs and grabs for the last bag of candyfloss before Merlin can reach for it. Merlin looks almost frightened as he reaches out and hugs Gwaine hard, harder than Gwaine knows what to do with apparently, as he shoots one fleeting wide-eyed look at Leon. He whispers something to Merlin and when they part, presents him with the bag of candyfloss. Merlin looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or slap him and in the end does both.

"Hey, Pendragon," Gwaine says, rubbing at his arm and nudging Merlin towards Arthur. "See to your spouse, would you, he's beating me."

"Someone needs to," Arthur says roughly, but his face tells a different story and he adds, "Good to see you, mate."

By that time, Elyan, Lancelot, Gwen and Percival have all arrived, crowding around. Everyone's grinning widely even if no one's mentioning directly that Gwaine looks better than he has in years, maybe. Gwaine's in fine form, cracking jokes with everyone and smiling around at them all like he can't quite believe they're all still here. He doesn't say anything about the job, though. In the queue to pay, Leon and Gwaine get separated from Percival, Elyan, Gwen and Lancelot by a couple of enthusiastic kids, while Arthur and Merlin are still bickering over pic'n'mix versus popcorn.

Leon nudges Gwaine and asks quietly, "Are you going to tell them your news? You know they'd go nuts."

Gwaine smiles around the bag of Maltesers he's holding with his teeth and mumbles until Leon plucks the bag from his mouth. "Maybe later," he says, shifting ice cream and toffee popcorn around, tucking the popcorn under his arm before taking the chocolates back from Leon. His sweet tooth is ridiculous these days. "I just want to let it sink in for a bit."

"Alright," Leon says agreeably. "Whatever you want. They'll be made up for you, though."

Gwaine nods and his arm grazes Leon's – deliberately? Maybe – for a warm moment. "Later," he says.

***

When Gwaine started this whole process, he would go the length of the city to find a meeting if he needed one, uncaring how awkward the journey was. Now though, with things calmer, heading for stable, he usually attends the same group in Ealing, telling Leon that there's a good bunch of regulars he gets on with, that he thinks between them they manage to be good for each other.

Gwaine doesn't usually talk much about the content of the meetings he goes to. He does talk with respect and sometimes a little frustration about his sponsor, a guy called Paul. And when stuff comes up in meetings that Gwaine's weird mind links in with Leon, he's willing to talk about it. But he's adamant that 'you're my friend, not my shrink, you don't need to hear this bullshit', and so all Leon can judge Gwaine's recovery on is his behaviour. He thinks that's for the best, maybe. He can't make assumptions and he can't draw conclusions, he can only watch and see how things go.

He hasn't seen Gwaine in a couple of days, ever since he left a meeting earlier in the week in a bad mood. They've been in touch by text message though, too light-hearted on Gwaine's part for him to have fallen off the wagon, and they've missed each other's phone calls a few times too. It's around dinner time on Wednesday evening when the intercom blares into life and Leon finds himself buzzing Gwaine up from street level and opening the door to him.

"Hi," Gwaine says, shifting from foot to foot like he's not sure what sort of welcome he's going to receive.

Leon holds the door open for him and waves him inside. "Coffee?" he offers.

"No," Gwaine says. Then, "Yes. Please."

In the living room, Gwaine sips his coffee and his nose wrinkles before he bounds up to go rooting through the kitchen in search and milk and sugar. He still doesn't drink though, just holds the cup, sets it down, spins it around, picks it up again until Leon feels anxious just watching him.

"So I have to make this list," Gwaine says abruptly. "Of all the times I've fucked up. Because somehow that'll make me want a drink _less_. Can I just – veg out here for a bit?" he asks.

"Sure," Leon says. "I've got some work to catch up on, though."

"S'fine," Gwaine says briskly. "I'm no sort of company today, anyway. I just need to be – here."

 _So I can't be in a bar_ , Leon fills in. Half an hour later, Gwaine walks into the kitchen where Leon's updating spreadsheets on his laptop. He reaches over Leon to grab a few sheets of paper from the printer and asks, "Got a pen?"

There are muffled curses from the next room for an hour and a half. Leon stays in the kitchen long after he's finished his work, looking to give Gwaine some privacy. Eventually, Gwaine reappears in the kitchen doorway, twirling the pen between his fingers. He seems calm, but his hair is wild as though he's been dragging his hands through it way too much. Leon's fingers itch to straighten it out again and not for the first time he has to think to himself, _don't complicate it._

"Got any vodka in?" Gwaine asks. Leon knows it's a joke but he winces anyway. "No?" Gwaine asks. "Another cup of your finest shite instant coffee, then, barkeep."

He wanders over as Leon puts the kettle on to boil and Leon can't help himself, squeezes the back of Gwaine's neck softly and feels him relax for the first time all night.

***

Leon never sees the list, but he gets to know a bit about it during the whole making amends part ( _step 9_ , Leon can't help thinking, because he's known all this for years: _Make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others_ ). They've just finished eating a takeaway in Gwaine's flat when he wipes his mouth on a bit of kitchen roll and half-turns on the sofa to pin Leon with a look.

He swallows and says, "I have said unpleasant and untrue things to and about you while drunk."

Leon opens his mouth but Gwaine holds up a hand to quiet him. "I've lied to you, given you sleepless nights, ignored your advice. And worst of all, I've discounted what happened with your father, and how difficult that must make it for you to do everything that you do for me."

Gwaine's eyes are wet and Leon suspects that his own are too when Gwaine continues, "And I'm supposed to – I'm meant to make amends for that, and I don't know where to start, except to say that I am deeply, sincerely sorry. And that this – all of this," he says, gesturing to himself, the room, the takeaway with no carry-out to go with it. "All of this is – well it's about living past forty five, obviously, but at least in part, this is me, making amends. I know it's not enough – "

Leon can't stand it anymore, grasps both of Gwaine's hands tight and interrupts, "It's the best thing. It's the best thing you could possibly do to make up for whatever you feel you've done wrong. I should tell you though, that I don't hold it against you. I don't resent you for it. I have faith in you."

Gwaine looks down at their hands and doesn't let go even as he lifts one shoulder and ducks his head, dashing tears from his eyes against the cotton of his t-shirt.

"Thank you," he says, his voice thick.

"Hey." Leon turns Gwaine's hands over in his own and swoops his thumbs over the soft cup of Gwaine's palms. "You're doing good, Gwaine. You're doing really good. But you know if you really want to make it up to me, you could always buy the coffee once in a while."

Gwaine hiccups laughter and lifts Leon's hands, pressing his forehead to the back of them for a second. "Deal," he says. "Deal."

Later that week, Leon leaves work to find Gwaine sitting on a low wall outside the office, a large Argos bag between his feet. Gwaine jumps up as he sees Leon and waves, stupidly handsome in the early-autumn sunshine.

"What's that?" Leon asks and Gwaine pushes the bag over towards him.

It's a coffee machine, complete with an espresso function and a milk frother, and Leon can't help laughing even as he says, "Mate, I can't take this."

"Please do," Gwaine says cheerfully. "I can't drink much more Gold Blend, honestly. And anyway, I've money I don't even know what to do with now. You don't know how weird it is to have money that stays my own long enough to actually notice it. Anyway, you said. Buy the coffee once in a while, yeah?"

Leon looks back into the bag and then squeezes Gwaine's shoulder. "Sure. Okay. Thank you."

***

It gets so that Leon barely notices the time passing. Gwaine is picking up more and more shifts at the garage, weekly meet-ups between the seven of them have become a regular thing again, and Gwaine has even managed to move out of his grotty little flat. It still isn't easy for either of them. Leon's been struggling lately, not knowing how close he's allowed now that Gwaine is doing so much better. He doesn't want to smother the man, but at the same time, he can't help getting a bit antsy if three days pass and he hasn't had at least a text from Gwaine.

In between the cinema with the others (or bowling, or paintballing, or rock-climbing – they have been brilliant about finding non-alcohol based things to do) Leon and Gwaine tend to eat together a few times a week. Gwaine insists he just likes Leon's cooking, but they talk a lot on those nights too, and Leon thinks they both get something out of it.

It's during one of their regular meals – Leon's chilli con carne, extra hot for Gwaine's benefit – that Gwaine clears his throat and says, "There's an open meeting next week. I'll be getting my chip for a year dry, and I wondered – I'd like you to be there."

Leon had known of course, that it must be coming up on a year. He's seen the other chips – twenty four hours, a month, two, three, four – Gwaine usually presenting them with an air of shy pride after each meeting. He's said several times that he thinks they're a bit ridiculous, but he still has them all, Leon knows.

"Of course I will," he says. "A year. Bloody hell. Well done, mate. We should do something to celebrate."

"Yeah, maybe," Gwaine says evasively. "Thursday at half three at the Ealing centre."

"I'll be there," Leon promises.

And sure enough, Thursday evening finds him waiting outside the community centre for Gwaine, nodding to the people who trickle in past in ones and twos. Gwaine comes pelting up the road from the direction of the tube station at twenty five past.

"Sorry," he pants. "Got out of work late and the fucking trains, man... Been waiting long?"

"Ten minutes or so," Leon says. "No problem."

"Cool. Come on," Gwaine say, pulling Leon along with him. "We're going to be late."

Leon follows him inside, not really sure what to expect.

***

In the course of the meeting, there are other people getting chips for a month, six months. There are people there with parents, partners, friends. Leon is struck by how comfortable Gwaine looks with them all, how proud they are of him. People clap when he gets his chip, and the tall ginger-haired guy who Leon recognises as Gwaine's sponsor whoops and cheers.

Afterwards the conversation focuses on problems people have encountered recently. Often it's the friends and relatives who start the ball rolling. It's a more positive atmosphere than Leon was expecting, a lot of laughter. Maybe that's down to the mix of people there who seem to know each other well, or the number of those people celebrating landmark dry periods. Either way, Leon finds himself squashed in next to Gwaine in a wide circle of people, smiling along with them and thinking that Gwaine looks _good_ – healthy and happy and maybe even more like himself than Leon's ever known him.

And then, towards the end, the guy who's been guiding the discussion asks if anyone else has something they'd like to share. Gwaine clears his throat and shifts on his seat.

"Yeah," he says, not quite meeting anyone's eye. "So, this is Leon. My friend." All the non-members had introduced themselves at the start of the session, so people nod and smile, and Leon returns the gestures even as he's wondering what Gwaine's up to.

"I just – " Gwaine goes on. "Today is – so massive for me, and I wanted Leon here because I owe him...a lot. Everything, pretty much." He turns to look at Leon then, his eyes so determined and focused that Leon couldn't look away even if he wanted to. "It's not that I couldn't have done it without you," Gwaine says. "But I wouldn't have wanted to. And I just want you – and everyone – I want you to know – you're the best, okay? I'm more grateful than I can say. And this is like...seismic, okay, you being here? It's amazing. It's the two most important things in my life and just – it's a lot, yeah?"

Leon has no idea what's a normal reaction to an announcement like that (or even if such an announcement itself is in any way normal) but he can't do anything but lift his arms and yank Gwaine into a hug.

"You daft sod," he murmurs into Gwaine's hair. "You're a fucking nightmare, you know that? Worth every second, but a fucking nightmare."

"I know," Gwaine says as he moves back, looking like he might never stop smiling, or like he might burst into tears right here. It's weirdly hard to tell the difference when he punches Leon softly in the arm and says, "Look what you signed up for, huh?"

"You're telling me," Leon says with a grin and then, thinking about how AA's meant to be all about honesty and so on, he says, "Um. Not...not really. I'm...pretty glad I signed up."

Gwaine's smile becomes more stable, becomes downright _luminous_ but before Leon can soak in the warm feeling that leaves in his stomach, Paul snorts with laughter and says, "Yeah, I think we got that."

"Hush up, you," Gwaine reprimands him, to general laughter.

The meeting breaks up fairly soon after that and when they've said their goodbyes and gone outside, Gwaine says, "It's a nice afternoon. Let's leave the car, yeah? Go for a walk?"

"Sure, alright," Leon says, dropping his car keys back into his pocket.

They find a park with a little cart selling overpriced coffees and sit on a bench, watching the world go by.

"I'm – I really don't know what the etiquette is here," Leon says, "But – well done. And...thank you, I suppose. It means a lot that you wanted me there."

Gwaine rolls his paper coffee cup between his hands and says, "I meant what I said. You're – really fucking important to me, Leon."

"Gwaine – " Leon starts, but he's already on his feet, grabbing Leon's empty cup and pacing over to the bin to ditch them.

When he gets back he sits down and smiles brightly and offers Leon a cigarette.

"Nah, thanks, I'm trying to quit."

Gwaine looks stunned for a split-second and then he grins, the smile growing until he pretty much collapses with laughter.

"I didn't mean – oh for God's sake," Leon says grumpily, but he can't mind too much when Gwaine falls against him, still hooting with laughter, his ridiculous hair getting in Leon's face.

When Gwaine sits up again he looks at Leon with suddenly serious eyes and says, "So I planned this whole speech for the meeting and I fucked it up. And I had another one worked out for right now, and I can't remember a word."

"Gwaine. You don't need to make speeches to me."

"I – " Gwaine looks like he's going to argue but then he grins and shakes his head instead. "I don't, do I? Alright, then." He digs around in his pocket and pulls out the red chip he'd been given in the meeting. He rubs his thumb over it and then looks up at Leon as he says, "I want you to have this."

"Gwaine," Leon says, looking at the chip, the '1 YEAR' standing out proudly. "That's yours, though."

"I know," Gwaine says. "But I want – here," he says, pressing the chip into Leon's palm. "Here, I want you to have it."

Leon closes his fingers around the disc, finding it skin-warm from Gwaine's hand. He swallows the last of his doubt and asks, " _Why_ do you want me to have it?"

Gwaine touches Leon's knuckles and smiles at him. "Because."

"'Because' is not a reason," Leon says, but any further attempt at logic is cut off when Gwaine leans forward and kisses him. Although his brain's racing at a hundred miles an hour, churning out reason after reason why this is a bad idea, Leon never considers any other course than to reach for Gwaine and pull him in a little closer, returning the kiss.

"I wasn't gonna," Gwaine says a bit breathlessly, his hand still curled around Leon's fist, "But I have to start trusting myself sometime, right? And that – that was my big speech, actually. Boiled down a bit."

Leon can't say anything, just grins at him until Gwaine fidgets and demands, "What's funny?"

"Nothing," Leon says hurriedly. "Nothing, honestly. You're right, that's all."

"And that's amusing to you?"

Gwaine's obviously teasing, so Leon shuts him up in the most obvious way possible.

***

They take it slow. Really, really slow. And they keep it quiet at first too, although Leon's not entirely sure why. Merlin catches them kissing in the kitchen at Leon's flat one night when everyone has congregated there to watch the football. Hejust rolls his eyes, grabs a beer and says, _duh_.

Gwaine's gorgeous and funny, always has been, since he was a mouthy eighteen year old who attracted trouble and lovers in equal measure. It makes slow really difficult, to be honest, because Gwaine's company is exhilarating. They do stuff together that they never would have before, when a night in the pub was the obvious route. Now, they go to galleries and plays and lectures. They drive out into the countryside and get lost for a weekend.

He and Gwaine still go jogging sometimes, but more for fun than actual competition. Gwaine gets enough of that with Percival. Bragging and one-upmanship and 'anything you can do I can do better' has led to a pact between the two of them to run the London marathon next year. Everyone else is looking at them like they're slightly mad, but Leon thinks Gwaine will manage to bully Arthur into it before the application deadline.

Gwaine has always been a lot smarter than he lets on, but recovery has made him thoughtful too, a little reserved compared to how he used to be. Maybe it's a little selfish, but Leon kind of likes it. Instead of giving and giving of himself, Gwaine holds some things back now. Some are just for himself, but some secrets are for Leon too, and every time it's tough, Leon reminds himself of that, reminds himself of what they have found, and how hard it's worth fighting to keep.

Leon loves the way Gwaine's always touching him, squeezing his knee or grazing his fingers over the back of Leon's neck. Innocent touches mainly, just because he can. They hold off on having sex for a while, and it feels unimportant compared to having the space in the day to curl up together, sharing time and breathing the same air. Leon is shameless in his pleasure at playing with Gwaine's hair, and it makes Gwaine rub his face against Leon's shirt – like a bloody kitten, Leon teases.

When they do get to it, it's phenomenally good, just like Leon knew it would be. Gwaine's funny and passionate, and he fucks like he's got something to prove. Maybe he thinks he has. Either way, Leon's unabashed about reaping the rewards.

"Sex helps," Gwaine says guilelessly.

The thing is, Leon thinks he's only half-joking. Sometimes, after a fuck, Gwaine is serene and thoughtful and apparently completely at peace with the whole world. Leon loves seeing the blissed-out look on his face, loves the way Gwaine gives himself over to it completely. He's all grabbing hands and hot body in bed, and he likes it again and again, all the contact he can get until pleasure's verging on pain and he's too wrung-out to do more than sprawl over Leon's chest and clutch at him, mouthing sloppy kisses onto his skin.

"That," Gwaine says one night, panting, "is the best incentive to stay sober yet."

Leon groans and drops his arm over his eyes. "You are so inappropriate, seriously," he says.

Gwaine kisses his elbow – ridiculous man – and down to bite at his armpit. "Not inappropriate if I say it," he points out, kissing his way over the curve of Leon's bicep before nuzzling at his jaw.

"Mmm. Maybe," Leon allows.

So there are rough days, yes, days when it feels less like a relationship and more like he's the only thing in the world keeping Gwaine propped up. Sometimes he feels like this is a threesome between himself, Gwaine, and Gwaine's issues (but he knows Gwaine's not alone on the issue front. All this has forced Leon to confront a lot of his thoughts and feelings around alcohol not just for other people, but himself) but then there are times like this.

Gwaine's curled up against him, after what's very feasibly the best sex of Leon's life, and it feels like they're any other couple, except better, because Leon's sure there's no storm they can't weather now.

***

It's a Tuesday when Leon starts to really believe they have made it through. It doesn't start well though, and Gwaine sounds slightly frantic when he calls Leon at lunchtime and says, "I'm on my way to a meeting in Ealing. Can you – "

"I'll be there," Leon says.

Sod's law, Leon hits traffic on his way there. Each minute that ticks past weighs on him. Gwaine had sounded so ragged around the edges, like he was hanging on by his fingernails. In the end, Leon doesn't get there until fifteen minutes after the meeting was due to end, and he is full of worst case scenarios. Relief hits like a hammer blow when he sees Gwaine sitting on the wall outside the community centre, chatting to his sponsor, and a petite, dark-haired woman.

When Gwaine sees Leon he smiles (a little bit tight, not quite making it to his eyes, Leon quickly catalogues) and waves. He says a few more words to his companions, then shakes Paul's hand and squeezes the woman's shoulder briefly, murmuring something that looks like encouragement and sympathy all at once. Then he jogs over to the car and slides into the passenger seat. He's looking a lot better than Leon was expecting, but still tense and tired. There's silence while Gwaine takes Leon's hand off the gearstick and carefully laces their fingers together.

"Can we go and feed the ducks?" he asks eventually.

Leon traces his thumb over Gwaine's knuckles and asks, "What ducks?"

Gwaine shrugs. "Some ducks. Any ducks."

"Yeah," Leon says. "Yeah, we can do whatever you need."

Gwaine takes a shuddering breath and squeezes Leon's hand tight. "Thank you."

Leon puts the car in gear and heads for a shop. Later, down by the river as the sun starts to drop, after Gwaine has methodically fed half a loaf of bread to the ducks, he dusts the crumbs off his hands and leans back against Leon with a heavy sigh.

Leon wraps his arms around Gwaine's waist, hooks his chin over his shoulder and says, "Hey."

Gwaine relaxes back against him like Leon's arms is the only place in the world he'd rather be than in a bar right now and says, "Hi."

"Bad day?" Leon asks.

Gwaine snorts and says a bit shakily, "Shit day."

Leon slides one hand up to press over Gwaine's heart and feel it beat. "Tomorrow will be better," he promises, kissing Gwaine's temple.

"Yeah," Gwaine says. "Footie's on tomorrow."

"That's the spirit," Leon says, squeezing Gwaine tighter. He laughs and turns around to kiss Leon properly.

"The way I see it," Leon tells him later, as they eat their fish and chips on a bench by the river, "And feel free to tell me I'm being a dick, but maybe try to look at this as a good thing. I'm not saying how you felt earlier wasn't really, really shitty, but you felt the worst you have since you stopped, right?"

"Yeah," Gwaine admits.

"But you felt like that and you didn't drink. I'm really – " Leon finds himself gripping Gwaine's jacket hard, probably getting vinegar and grease all over it, and forces himself to let go. "Really fucking proud of you."

"I almost drank," Gwaine says, but he doesn't sound as bleak about that as he would have even a few months ago.

"Right? And then you didn't. You found a meeting, you didn't drink on the way there, you fucking – you're _doing_ this, babe."

Gwaine nudges their shoulders together and when Leon turns to look at him, presses a soft, slightly salty kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Love you, man," he says quietly.

"That's the chips talking," Leon says.

"You're telling me," Gwaine says. "Lot harder to conveniently blurt that one out these days. I do, though."

"I know you do," Leon tells him, hooking their fingers together. "I do, too."

 

 **Epilogue**

It's been almost four years since Gwaine first went to a meeting. This time around he's been dry for over two years, the longest spell in his life. He keeps a little pile of chips in the bedside drawer, ranging right from the battered, tarnished hard-won sheen of 24 hours sober up to the pale blue of two years. (Except the one year one, that is in Leon's wallet, has been since he picked Gwaine up from the meeting and Gwaine pressed it into his hand and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him in between blurting, _have this, I want you to have it_.)

Life isn't perfect. Gwaine still finds himself wondering why Leon cares, when by now he must know Gwaine is more trouble than he's worth. Those days tend to be the ones when Leon looks at him, calm and without judgment and says, "I think you need to go to a meeting."

And fuck, leaving aside the issue of whether Leon should be bothering with someone like Gwaine, sometimes a drink sounds like the best thing in the world. It's not a sharp hurt anymore, nor even an aching knot inside him. It's more like nostalgia. Summer is the worst. There are days when a pint of ice-cold cider sounds like paradise itself. Except Gwaine knows he wouldn't start with a pint of high-quality cider in a leafy pub garden after meeting Leon from work, he'd start first thing in the morning with two huge bottles of super-strength rat's piss from the off-licence.

Gwaine's not entirely sure how he feels about AA at the moment. It probably saved his life, so he feels like he can't knock it too much. The spiritual side of it had always been a bit much for an already battered and bruised ex-catholic, but now, with two and a bit years under his belt, and Leon by his side, Gwaine is questioning it more and more. He doesn't want to always think of himself as an alcoholic. Because surely an alcoholic with twenty years dry is just someone who doesn't drink? He hopes the day might come where he will just _not think_ about drinking – the pros, the cons, the sick allure of annihilation, any of it – rather than having not thought about it for a week, or a month.

He knows he's not quite there yet, but he really thinks he's getting there. Last month he'd scraped Merlin up from a bar after he'd had a screaming fight with Arthur and gone out to drown his sorrows. All Gwaine had done was chuckle, dry Merlin's tears, watch him heave, and agreed that Arthur was really stupid even if he did cover it up with so much pretty, Gwaine, _so much_. The thought of joining Merlin in an all night session only occurred to him in retrospect the next morning while he teased Merlin through his hangover, when he realised vaguely that a year or two ago... Well, they'd probably still have been drinking by the morning. Instead, he'd sent a text message to Leon, who'd been on a similar mission of mercy to Arthur, forced some coffee down Merlin's throat and loaded him onto a bus.

So yeah, sometimes success is a lifestyle, and it's glorious, getting to take sobriety both in mind and in deed for granted. But there are bad days too, for all sorts of reasons and for no reason at all. Sometimes he wakes up with a headache he knows a drink would fix, a temper he knows a drink would mellow. So he still goes to meetings, when he feels the need, or when Leon says something, but he's finding there are other things that do just as well at setting him back on an even keel. Running is great, sex is better. Slightly to Gwaine's surprise he finds that writing helps too, short stories and half-formed poems that he only allows Leon to read, and even then only some of them.

Sometimes Gwaine feels horribly guilty that he allows Leon to do so much for his benefit, never mind being the one who made the move that pulled him in so much deeper. There are parts of his sober character that Gwaine is still discovering, huge swathes of himself he never even guessed at. He loves early nights, for one thing, when he hasn't gone to bed early and sober since he was about fifteen. There are some things that seem to be constant, though. He's still a bit selfish deep down, under the urge to give people everything of himself – an urge he now recognises, at least in part as one to cease to exist inside his own head.

And so yeah, he's selfish. He's got it better than he could ever deserve in a million years, but there's no way he's giving it all up out of some self-sacrificing effort to set the world right on its axis. The world is what it is. Leon has always been there, always the sensible one, always the best one to turn to in a crisis, and Gwaine would never have expected the depths of his humour and his passion that he's still discovering. It's a shocking privilege, and Gwaine fully intends to cling to it just as long as possible.

There are days when Gwaine feels like he has every reason in the world to drink. But Leon is there on those days too, and that's a pretty huge reason _not_ to drink. Even when Gwaine finally sucked it up and got back in touch with what's left of his family only for his mother to close the door in his face, Leon was there. His mum is coming around now, slowly, and Gwaine is learning hard lessons about how long some sorts of trust take to earn back. But even if that day and his garbled apology had been the very last contact he ever had with his family, he doesn't think he would have drunk, no matter that to his old eyes it would have been a tailor-made excuse.

His other friends are amazing, too. Even though no one's been as involved as Leon, Gwaine owes them all a hell of a lot, maybe Arthur most of all, god help him. In between 'I will fucking kick your arse for this when you're thinking straight, you prick' text messages, Arthur had been incredibly supportive. It's no secret that when Gwaine said some stuff, real dick, bottom-of-a-bottle-of-vodka, end-of-a-three-week-bender stuff, it was Arthur who endured not only tears but also anger when he doggedly insisted that Merlin not shut the door on Gwaine completely.

But between them all, they have dragged him on when he faltered. Gwaine has spent a fair few nights with his head in Gwen's lap, drinking endless cups of Lancelot's stupidly strong tea. Percival's tactics lean more towards dragging Gwaine for a run and then to the gym, egging him on to push himself until he wants a bath and bed way more than he wants a drink. Quite a lot of the time, Merlin sends him to Leon, and at first that had bothered Gwaine. He'd understood, because he hurt Merlin a lot, but it still bothered him because even before the one year chip, things were so tangled and complex with Leon that sometimes all he wanted was his best mate.

One night when Merlin had said, "Why don't you call Leon?" Gwaine hadn't been able to hide his expression quick enough and Merlin had looked horrified and flailed and stammered his way through an explanation which amounted to _I'm not trying to get rid of you, you monumental arse, but sometimes you need to hear his voice, don't you? Monumental. Arse._ But things are better with Merlin now, and they do normal stuff again, except Gwaine doesn't do it all half-cut. It's actually a nicer change than he was expecting.

So no, life isn't perfect. But what is? Anyway, most of the time this version of not perfect is pretty fucking fantastic. This version is a day's work he loves with people he respects. It's a clear head in the mornings, and it's the dark impulse in the back of his mind mainly quieted. But best of all this version has Leon, steadfast and strong and right there at Gwaine's side.

 _and no one brings anything small into a bar around here  
they all started out with bad directions_


End file.
